


Time

by TheBusyAuthor



Series: 21 Years [2]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Drama, Drama & Romance, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship, Love, M/M, Romance, Sex, Sherlock - Freeform, Young Benedict Cumberbatch, Young Martin Freeman, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBusyAuthor/pseuds/TheBusyAuthor
Summary: Join Ben & Martin on a little time travel into the past and get to know what truly happened in their lives in the last 21 years.Enjoy!
Relationships: Benedict Cumberbatch/Martin Freeman
Series: 21 Years [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206623
Comments: 5
Kudos: 2





	1. Time Has Too Many Faces

_**\- Monday, July/25 - 2016, 03:21 am, Los Angeles, Hyatt Regency -** _

It was dark.  
Not the slightest light shone in the hotel room of the Hyatt Regency in Los Angeles.  
The curtains had been drawn and did not allow the light from all the illuminated buildings in the city to enter the room.  
It was dark.

The man in the king size bed slept - restlessly.  
Restless ever since he fell asleep a few hours ago.  
Sometimes he had turned to the right side, sometimes to the left. Then he had been lying on his back, then on his stomach.  
His heart had been racing, his heart had been beating calmly, then it had completely flipped out again. It had been a constant change - but although the heart had stopped beating from time to time and then started beating like mad, it hadn't let the man lying in bed wake up.  
The bed looked completely rumpled, as if a fight had raged in here.  
He was alone.  
Alone in this hotel room.  
Alone in bed.  
And yet a massive struggle had raged inside this bed.

It was quiet except for the rustling of the duvet.  
And although it was immensely quiet and extremely dark, the man in the bed suddenly woke up like a scalded cat.  
He had left his dream world.  
And no sooner had he opened his eyes he was sitting upright in bed.  
His eyes were widened; he breathed in and out frantically, gasping in the air as if he hadn't breathed properly for hours.  
His hair stuck to his head, the T-shirt sweaty on his chest.  
At the same time it was pleasantly cool due to the inaudible air conditioning - even though outside this hotel room, temperatures were currently quite different in Los Angeles.

The man run his hand through his sweaty hair, rubbed his eyes, rubbed his chest - over the T-shirt that was stuck to him all sweaty.  
He took a deep breath.  
He needed to calm down.  
A dream.  
It had only been a dream, just a dream - and yet he felt his heart beating uncomfortably against his chest, his stomach contracting uncomfortably, his hands shaking. Yet in the dream he had just felt the butterflies dancing in his stomach and his heart beating joyfully.  
He had been on cloud nine - and now he had hit the ground very hard.  
He breathed in frantically, closed his eyes again, tried to calm down his heart.  
He took another deep breath in and out - letting the air escape loudly.  
His hand run through his hair again; he pushed the blanket aside.  
He stood up, his feet on the floor, the palms of his hands resting on the bed.  
He let his head hang forward, breathed in and out calmly - very slowly.  
Minutes passed, but the rhythm of his heart was still a chaos.  
The air escaped him loudly; he raised his head, blinked a few times until his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness.  
And then he stood up properly.

Drowsy and, in a sense, completely woken up and awake by his dream, he staggered shuffling and blindly to the bathroom.  
There he switched on the light.  
He squeezed his eyes together, rubbed his eyes, then opened them again. His way led him to the mirror and to the washstand. He supported his hands on the washbasin, his head slowly lifted, looking in the mirror.  
His hair looked all messed up, stuck to his head, sweaty - he run his hand through his hair again. He could still see the sweat on his forehead, on his whole face. The blue eyes looked tired, they looked frantic, panicky, offended, tense, hopeless, fearful. He had marks of the pillow on his face, which looked completely pale.  
He looked at himself for a moment, eyed his face, almost flinching from his own appearance.  
He used the tap, stretched is hands out under the running water and shovelled the fresh and cold water into his sweaty pale face.  
He shivered. The cold water was a blessing and a curse at the same time. It did his heated and sweaty skin good, and yet the cold water was simply unwelcome.  
And yet he wet his face two more times with the fresh and cool water.  
Once again he turned his gaze to the mirror.  
Much hadn’t changed in his appearance; he still looked pale and sweaty, only his face was now soaked wet due to the cold water.  
He shook his head, turned off the water, and hit the washstand desperately and violently with his hand.  
He raised his hand, shaking it as the hard hit against the hard ceramic plate had hurt quite a bit.

He turned around.  
He got rid of the boxer shorts and the T-shirt and threw them carelessly into one corner of the bathroom.  
He desperately needed a refreshing shower and then he would probably need something from the minibar - or perhaps any alcoholic beverage he could find in the minibar. So far he hadn't even looked to see what they had to offer. Hopefully they had something good to offer, because the hotel bar was already closed.

His hand switched on the shower, and although he was not the biggest fan of cold water, he stepped under the cold rushing rain.  
The water splashed out of the shower head, wetting his whole body with icy cold water.  
He had closed his eyes, just let it rain - but after standing in the shower completely motionless for a minute or two, his hand frustratedly hit and smacked the tiles in the shower. But even the tiles were no softer or more inviting than the ceramic top of the washbasin.  
He hissed, sucked the air in sharply, shook his hand again, kneaded it with the fingers of the other hand.

He had hoped to forget this dream quite quickly by feeling the ice-cold water that had shot out of the pipe at the beginning. He just wanted to wash away the dream and all the feelings that had come up with it.  
But the warm water had come, the almost hot pleasant and cosy water rained from the tap, and the dream was still present.  
As present as if he had actually experienced it.  
He clenched his hands into fists.  
He had often dreamt of unbelievable nonsense and asked himself what this had been all about and how he had come up with such nonsense - probably everyone knew that feeling and these thoughts.  
And he was sure that everyone had dreamed in such detail and extremely realistic that in the morning they didn't know whether it had actually happened or not.  
Often one asked oneself how one came up with a dream and quite often one could explain it to oneself.  
In dreams, people process experiences and thoughts, desires and hopes, fears - even if everything may seem completely confused at times. Most of the time it made sense why people had dreamt that,… for example, the former kindergarten teacher suddenly crashed with a plane. Maybe you had met this person again by chance, maybe you had seen her in old photos, maybe you had talked about her, maybe you had read her name somewhere; maybe you didn't like her, maybe she had actually died and you had heard about it, maybe you had read or heard something bad about a completely different kindergarten teacher; maybe a flight was imminent, maybe you had read something about a crash or you were afraid of flying yourself. Every dream, however confused, made sense if you could remember it and think about it.

But this dream he had had tonight had been completely different - he had never dreamed like that before, not even once; at least he couldn't remember having dreamed like that before, not even once like tonight.  
This dream had not just been damn realistic and detailed.  
The dream hadn't really been that confusing and he didn't have to ask himself why he had dreamt such a thing.  
What really irritated him about this dream, and what had been completely different, was the fact that he had dreamed this dream as if he himself had been the narrator. He had dreamt as if he was reading a story, as if he was the narrator, even though he himself had been in the story.  
He had seen himself.  
He had felt his feelings.  
He had dreamed of text messages.  
He had felt what other people in this story, in this dream, had felt and thought.  
He had dreamed as a narrator, from his own perspective and from the perspective of other people.

And that completely destroyed him.  
Sleep was no longer an option.  
How could he now turn a blind eye.  
It was not a dream he had spun together.  
It was a dream that spoke so much truth that it hurt, that it caused panic, fear and hopelessness, that it triggered anger, desperation and outrage - filled with deep sadness.

The warm water continued to trickle down on his tense body - shoulders pulled up, the man stood motionless like a soldier under the water. And the water wet every small part of his still quite well-trained body.  
He wasn't quite as fit as he was during the Doctor Strange shootings - because after that he had stopped training and had lost some muscle mass for Sherlock.  
He sighed, ran his hands through his wet hair, rubbed his eyes - and then he stood stiff as a tin soldier in the shower again.

Benedict remained standing under the water, enjoying the warm liquid although he wasn't cold at all - at least not externally.  
However, he had been quite cold inside since he woke up - but this feeling could not be dispelled even with the warm, almost hot water.  
And even the dream had not been trickled away by the water.  
He couldn't scare away the dream, he couldn't scare away the feelings - and he couldn't scare away the thoughts that this dream caused him.

He had been dreaming about himself and Martin.  
About himself and Martin and getting to know each other, which had happened completely different than in reality, than in the real world, than in the here and now.

In this dream there had been some truths.  
He actually had a best friend whom he had met in kindergarten, named Marcello, who had a really good running restaurant he ran with his wife, and who probably knew more about movies and all the actors than he did himself. Even though Marcello was not working in the film business. But just as crazy as he was about good food, he was crazy about movies and everything that came with movies too, like actors and the people behind the scenes, like the music and props. And his best friend Marcello from kindergarten actually had slightly longer brown hair, which he usually had loosely slicked back - and in his hair there were already a few grey strands. The eyes were actually brown, and Marcello had actually grown a small belly. And his best friend actually had a son called Lucas.  
He had really seen Martin all by himself for the first time at the stage door of the Playhouse Theatre - with a white T-shirt, light blue jeans and a bag.  
And Martin had actually given him tickets for the Pink Floyd concert at the end of September this year as a birthday present.  
And Martin would also fly to Australia very soon.

There were some things that were true in his dream and in reality - in his dream they were sometimes mixed up, a little bit confused, but there were still many things in his dream that were true, even if the circumstances, the time or the persons did not always fit one hundred percent.

But there had been just as many untruths in his dream.  
He was not a teacher, but he had worked as an English teacher in India for a year right after school before he started studying; and he had a school friend, Marcello knew as well, who actually was a teacher, Philip. Philip, whom Marcello had even mentioned briefly in his dream. And Philip taught English, History and Physical Education at South Hampstead High School - as he had in his dream.  
He hadn't had to wait 21 years for Martin either - because his actually quite loud and relaxed Italian best friend hadn't run across Craven Street at the Playhouse Theatre 21 years ago.  
No one had run towards him.  
In fact, 21 years ago he had talked to the still unknown actor, Martin Freeman.  
And for almost 21 years he was in a relationship with this now extremely well known and famous actor, Martin Freeman.  
And not only that - they were not just boyfriends, they were married.  
Martin had been his husband for a bit more than 10 years now.

He had only dreamed, he tried to calm down.  
But this mantra did not work at all. He couldn't calm down, because the dream had been incredibly realistic and in many ways true to detail.  
The dream said so much and he just couldn't calm down because he knew exactly why he had dreamt all of this.

He had dreamt that they had never met - or in his dream, only after 21 long years, at about just two months ago.

And he knew exactly why he had dreamt it - he knew what all the things from his dream meant.

It actually felt like he didn't know him anymore - like 21 years were lost.


	2. Hopelessness

_**\- Monday, July/25 - 2016, 04:31 am, Los Angeles, Hyatt Regency -** _

The water had only been switched off a few minutes ago.  
In fact, he had been standing in the shower for an hour, motionless like a soldier waiting for a command; had let the water rain down on him, had recalled the dream; which hadn’t been difficult at all - he could still recite it word for word. He could write it down; there wouldn’t be a difference from a written story for someone reading it.

He squatted in front of the minibar with a towel around his hips, opened the minibar and studied the contents.  
Soft drinks.  
Wine.  
Sparkling wine.  
Beer.  
He pulled a face - he had hoped for something stronger. Something like vodka, gin, whisky.  
He took the beer with a grumpy sigh - reluctantly, actually.  
He opened the can.

His path led him to his window. He opened the curtains and looked out over the illuminated city. And then he sipped at his beer.  
He didn't really feel like it, and yet he needed it somehow.

This dream had reminded him of the deadlocked relationship with Martin and probably that is exactly what the dream had wanted to achieve – they had reached an impasse.

21 years, almost 21 years they have been living together.  
August the first was their anniversary - their 21st anniversary.  
The question was whether they would make it to their anniversary.  
Would they still experience the 21th as a couple at all?

He hadn't had the dream for nothing - his head had processed quite a bit in this dream.  
Fears, hopes, actual events, feelings, thoughts, worries.

At the moment the relationship felt like the beginning of the dream.  
That they were incredibly far away from each other, searching for each other, but simply couldn’t find each other, couldn’t reach each other even though they were close in terms of location.

The beginning of this dream probably reflected all his fears.  
The fear of losing Martin. The fear of moving further and further away from him, that at some point it would feel as if they had never met or spoken to each other. The fear of being only the third wheel on the wagon and not getting through to him because other people were always in the way; fans, projects, appointments, hurry, friends - like Amanda. It was metaphorically exactly what happened - they loved each other, they searched for each other, they saw each other, they didn't come together, they didn't find each other, something was always in the way, kept them from being with each other, kept them from being the couple they wanted to be, the couple they once were.

Then he had told Marcello about this meeting in 1995 - something that actually affected him and Martin; somehow they didn't talk about what was bothering them anymore; he had always been able to talk to Marcello, at any time, about anything that was bothering him, and he had always done so - he had never hidden anything from Marcello that was bothering him. Of course, he could always have talked to Martin about all these things, but sometimes it had been quite nice to talk to Marcello first, an outsider, especially when it came to small quarrels and arguments. And he knew that Martin was also looking for someone else to talk to from time to time, sometimes you just needed that, and it was perfectly fine to get a first opinion from someone else beforehand. He had in fact never hidden anything from Marcello; it was Martin with whom he now hardly ever talked about what was bothering and disturbing him - they talked, they talked like friends and colleagues, but they didn't talk as a couple unless they were arguing.

In the dream he had been at the Baftas and somehow he hadn't; he had only been standing behind the barrier, watching Martin from a distance. In fact, he hadn't been there, had been at home, hadn't felt like having another appointment - he'd rather stayed at home, had cancelled as Martin's companion, who hadn't been very enthusiastic about it and hadn't spoken to him again until the next day. And it had been similar in his dream. They had been with each other in some way, but they hadn’t spoken to each other.

This jogging part - in fact he loved jogging and he had already run this route he had run in the dream, and they were also quite often at the Founders Arms when they had time for it. And indeed, Martin had been out with Amanda a lot lately, and he had felt like he was disturbing them, which probably wasn't true, but he felt like he would.  
He liked Amanda, he really liked her a lot - but in the last few months Martin had spent more time with her than with him and that bothered him a lot, it made him sad, it disappointed him. It gave him exactly the feeling he had had in his dream - to be close to Martin in a way, wanting to change something, not being able to, letting him slip out of his hands again, being disappointed, not wanting to disturb him. He was indeed nervous, hardly dared to address anything like this. He didn't want to offend Martin and Amanda and he didn't want to argue again - and he knew very well that if he would address it, Martin would get it in the wrong way, and they would argue too much and unnecessarily out of a senseless impulse. He really didn’t like to argue with Martin, and yet he, too, was about to fly off the handle in a matter of seconds lately.

Martin's speculations about the jogger with Amanda had partly been truths he knew from Martin - such as that he had actually been tired after the play in 1995 and yet they had gone for a drink after the theatre evening. He also knew that Martin thought he was hot, at least Martin had said it quite often in their relationship - not for some time now, but lots of months and years ago he had whispered it in his ear almost every day. And maybe his head had noticed that Martin also had the feeling that they were getting more and more lost in their relationship, and that's why he was looking for him - in the dream Martin had at least thought about looking for him, but had given up. Or maybe it was the fear that Martin would write, call or tell him personally every seconds that he would split up with him.  
He had to admit, he truly was alarmed.  
In the end it had been a dream sequence of Martin, parts of it were absolutely true, others seemed to be simply speculations of him, or things buried deep in his subconscious.

Then again a meeting without a proper talk.  
And what were they doing in their real relationship - they saw each other but didn't really talk to each other; they missed each other but didn't do anything about it; they had a crush on each other but were unsure whether it was still love or just friendship; at least he could say that for himself.  
Truths; speculations; knowledge he had from others.

Martin's time in the shower - probably triggered by the fact that they had actually had sex in the shower several times before, he liked the way Martin looked and sounded during sex, and he knew what Martin liked and felt during sex; but the last sex had been far too long ago.  
It was longing for love and tenderness.  
Love and tenderness used to be numerous in their relationship - but now they were rare, if ever.

Then in his dream the other side of the coin had begun - hope.  
The hope he probably still had that they could make this relationship work again.  
The time they spent in Marcello’s restaurant, where they really are eating from time to time, where other celebrities actually enjoy their time. Marcello, whom Martin also appreciated and liked very much, just as he appreciated and liked Martin's brother Jamie quite a lot - Martin's favourite brother, his favourite brother-in-law.  
And also the reason why he suddenly stood behind the bar corresponded to reality. Some time ago Marcello had actually left the restaurant because of his son, to pick him up from a party that went wrong. There hadn't been any guests left because of a big summer event in the city, and the amazing weather had attracted most of the guests to this party. Martin and he had indeed closed the restaurant for Marcello that evening - only Jamie had not been with them.

Then a breakfast at which they had finally been able to talk, which they really needed to do urgently if they wanted to make progress in a good direction.

All their texting in this dream - something they had done before. They had often written to each other, they had often talked on the phone, then skyped, sometimes they had even slipped little pieces of paper into each other's pockets. Flirtatious and loving messages that no longer existed.  
Martin hardly ever answered; he could be happy and thankful that he still received an answer from Martin when he had questions.

Dates - little dates they never lost, dates they had still had until a while ago, even though they had been together for such a long time. But even these little dates no longer existed - another thing that was completely at a dead end.

His thought in his dream of having only dreamed, probably a doubt whether it would still end well - and quite honestly, he had incredibly strong doubts about it.  
In his dream he had dreamt of having sex with Martin, apparently he seemed to be missing it very much.

Then finally the first kiss in the dream, again a big hope.  
And as in his dream, they had actually danced around each other a little bit back then until they had tasted their first kiss - but that was also due to the not yet good acceptance of same-sex couples, at least in public, back then.  
But becoming a couple had been quite different from what had happened in the dream.  
But the dates in their dreams reflected dates they had actually experienced. They had often cooked together while drinking wine, and they had often ordered pizza for a movie night. The James Bond movie night had actually happened in the past - in a distant past when they had just become a couple.

The sex - apparently his body missed the sex with Martin quite a lot, and he couldn't even tell when they had exchanged sexual love in any form the last time.

Martin's gesture at the end of the dream - in reality it was probably more about getting to know the parents and coming out in the generally not yet very accepting society. Back then they hadn’t been well known or famous, and when they became more and more famous and well known, they had already been a couple and very much in love and settled down - it had never been big news for their fans, who nevertheless loved their relationship immensely.  
And then his own narrative thoughts at the end, that he had the feeling that they didn't had to wait 21 years - of course it felt like that because they actually didn’t had to wait that long; and on top of that, even though it felt like he didn’t know Martin any more, it also felt like 21 years couldn’t have passed already; it was amazing that he had already spent 21 years with the guy he had seen on stage and immediately had a crush on.

He sighed, took another sip.  
It was astonishing what you could process in a dream and how much sense dreams made.  
Everything in this dream, every little thing had a meaning - on exactly this level as the dream had represented it, or even on another level, triggered by other circumstances, in another year, on another day, by another person.  
Whether it was a name, a place, an embrace, whatever it had been in the dream - it made sense, it wasn't just the complete truth or one that was a little bit twisted, it didn't just make metaphorical sense.

The dream spoke the absolute truth.  
They had slowly become more and more distant from each other, hardly knowing each other. It almost felt as if they had to make up for 21 years, and he wondered how on earth they were going to manage that.  
They had hardly seen each other lately, had been on the road all the time, and when they had seen each other, it had been more like a friendly meeting.  
They had been happy, but romantic love was missing.  
And had it felt like a relationship and romantic love, they had just argued.  
Argued over different opinions.  
Argued over the lack of affection and love.  
Disputes over the lack of time together.  
Arguing about work.

Everything had started with the Hobbit.  
Slowly and steadily.  
Without them even noticing it at first.  
Martin had suddenly been in New Zealand for a very long time, had only been back in Wales for a few weeks to shoot the second season of Sherlock. Then at home for Christmas for a short time, again back to New Zealand for the Hobbit, then another project (Fargo) in Canada, then again the Hobbit.  
It had been a time when he had noticed that it worked without Martin at times, and that it even worked surprisingly well.  
They had seen each other on the set due to his role as Smaug, but that had actually been limited to a few days - nothing compared to the 18 months Martin had been away most of the time - and that hasn’t even been the end of the Hobbit time.  
After the Hobbit, he himself had also got bigger and bigger roles.  
And so he himself had been on the road even more often, the shooting schedules had hardly overlapped, and so it had usually been the case that one of them came home when the other one got back on the plane. Sometimes they had met in the transit area of the airport for a short kiss, a hug and an ‘I love you’.  
In the end, they had seen each other most at Christmas time and when they were shooting for Sherlock.

And little by little he had noticed that he was also doing well on his own. Little by little it felt more and more as if he didn't need Martin as a partner by his side. It hardly felt like a partnership anymore, hardly like a marriage. It felt much more like a flat share with his best friend who he truly and deeply appreciates.  
A feeling that was dangerous.  
A feeling that one should sort out.  
He loved Martin sincerely - as a friend.  
But he didn’t know whether he still loved him as a husband, as a man romantically.  
And that was exactly the problem.

That was the dangerous thing about this whole messed up story.  
This wasn’t only about an amazing and magical chemistry and friendship. There was also a marriage and a partnership and once unconditional love attached to it. And above all, two other people were attached to it.  
Christopher and Amelia.  
Their two children.

Again he drank from the beer.  
Actually it tasted awful.  
He swallowed the liquid, leaning his hot forehead against the window pane.  
His eyes flitted over the early morning city.

He felt absolutely stuck.  
And he wondered whether they had simply reached the end of their common path.  
Was it better to just break up?  
Now, relatively painlessly, before it ended in a big fight, in war, in the loss of their friendship?  
Wasn't it better to draw a line now and accept that it was simply friendship, deep friendship?  
Wasn't that better for Christopher and Amelia?

If he was honest, he didn’t have the hope that they would be able to fight their way out of this deadlocked situation again.  
It had crept in too slowly, they had noticed it too late - and then they had done nothing to stop it, to search for the reason, to fight their way out of it as a loving couple, like the phoenix from the ashes.

They had stopped hiding their little secret love notes; they rarely text each other anymore, didn’t call or skype as often as they used to, and often didn’t have contact every single day like they once had - except when it came to their children.  
They had stopped their little dates; they rarely told each other what they felt and thought, what they liked and what bothered them, what they wanted and needed. Although, actually, they still told each other what bothered them - too late, too loud, too inappropriate, too exaggerated; their arguments, which were completely pointless.  
Now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't even answer for himself when he had last told Martin that he loved him - and he couldn't remember the last time Martin had said it.  
In any case, it hadn't been before the flight to Los Angeles, at least he was absolutely sure he hadn't said it himself, and he couldn't remember Martin saying anything to him in that direction.

Had it become unimportant?  
Apparently.

He bit his lower lip. His heart beat painfully against his sternum. It was an unpleasant feeling, a sad feeling - he had always believed that Martin was the one, the one man in his life; the one he had met so wonderfully early in his life; his more than perfect match.  
Hopelessness flooded through him as his hand thundered against the window pane.  
Teeth were clenched, the hand was shaken again.  
For a while now it felt as if this relationship could fall apart into a thousand pieces any second.  
He had to do something. He had to talk to Martin when he was back home.  
For better or worse, they had to stop this - before one day they would hurt themselves really deeply. He had to let Martin go, it was better than holding him and watching their misfortune race towards them.  
They had reached the point where they could no longer go on as a couple.

He sipped at the beer.  
It still didn't taste good, somehow it became more and more disgusting.  
But a feeling made him swallow it down - hopelessness.


	3. A Long Way Back

_**\- Monday, July/25 - 2016, 09:15 am , Los Angeles Airport, American 110, Airbus A321, First Class -** _

Sleep had indeed become unthinkable for Benedict.

He had only drunk one beer, then a water, a coke and another water. He hadn't touched another beer - for one thing, he hadn't liked the first one and had just choked it down, and for another, it wasn't the best thing to wash down his frustration and disappointment and love-sickness with alcohol.  
All the time he had been standing at the window, looking at the illuminated city. And slowly more and more lights had gone out, the sun had risen, while he had thought about every little detail of the dream.

And then he had showered again, got dressed, packed all his things together; there hadn't been that many for the short time at the San Diego Comic Con.  
And then he had got ready to leave for the airport.  
He had had breakfast with the others in the hotel, but he had been silent most of the time, had simply drunk his coffee and orange juice and eaten his breakfast, so that most of the time he had had something in his mouth anyway, and hadn’t been able to say anything at all - after all, you don't talk with your mouth full.  
And that had come in quite handy, because he hadn't wanted to talk about the dream and all the other things with his colleagues and friends - he hadn't even really talked to Marcello about it.

He had lied to himself.  
There was actually something he hadn't talked with Marcello about yet.  
It were the massive relationship problems with Martin.  
He just hadn't been able to say it in front of him; he was ashamed of it, it made him too sad, sometimes just angry - and on top of that Marcello was absolutely thrilled with Martin and kept saying that they were the greatest and sweetest couple he ever saw, that he was extremely proud of them and their family. He hadn't managed to tell him that things didn't look rosy and good any more.  
Marcello thought they were in absolute harmony, and Marcello seemed to be incredibly proud of that. How could he suddenly tell Marcello that they were in such a great crisis that this amazing happiness could collapse like a house of cards at any moment.  
And in the near future he wouldn’t have to announce a big love crisis, but the end of a relationship, marriage and family.  
Marcello would certainly be flabbergasted.

He had only sent a short text message to Martin after breakfast, telling him that he was now on his way to the airport and that he would contact him again when they had landed in London.  
Their flight would leave Los Angeles at 09:45 am and arrive at London Heathrow at 07:20 tomorrow morning. In between they would make a short stop in Chicago - where they would change planes.  
He would have to think about the best time to ask Martin for a sit down, to tell him that it was better for both of them, their children and their friendship, if they separated.  
It wouldn’t be easy to tell him, but what other choice did he have?  
They hadn’t done anything about their messed up relationship.  
Now there was no way back.

He was dead tired and yet sleep was simply not an option.  
He had been quiet during breakfast, on the short way to the airport, at check-in, at the security check, in the lounge and at boarding.  
He had successfully fended off questions about his well being from Steven, Sue, Amanda and Mark - with the information that he was tired. And in general that wasn’t really a lie.  
He simply didn't feel like talking about his relationship problems, or the impending end of his relationship. Especially since none of them even suspected that there was anything wrong with them - at least nobody had asked them about any problems so far, and somebody would certainly have done it if something was conspicuous.  
The same applied to his parents and to Martin's parents and siblings.  
Nobody knew about it yet, nobody seemed to suspect anything - at least none of them had asked them about it until now. On the contrary, they all raved about how sweet they were together.

There were only ten seats in the First Class of the Airbus A321.  
They were arranged diagonally, pointing away from each other, so that you could look out of the window without having to strain your head. In addition, you could flatten the seats into a lying position - there were blankets and pillows, and the legroom was excellent. You could watch television - films, series, TV programmes; there was radio; headphones if you didn't have your own. The ventilation was much better to adjust, and on top of that, all drinks, whether non-alcoholic or not, were free.  
But the best thing was the arrangement of the seats - it simply conveyed a feeling of privacy.  
And that was exactly what he wanted to have right now.  
He didn’t want to be disturbed by his colleagues and friends, nor did he want to be constantly disturbed by the stewards.  
He just wanted to be left alone, preferably until their paths separated in London. And then he also just wanted to be left alone by Matt, his and Martin's driver – he just wanted him to drive him home to his children and Martin as soon as possible, so that he could hold his children in his arms again.

Benedict strolled to their seats.  
He stopped in front of his own, took his headphones out of his bag - the mobile phone was already in his trouser pocket.  
He closed the bag again, stowed it in the luggage rack.  
And then he dropped onto his seat - he was about to plug in his headphones and seal himself off.  
Sue sat behind him, on the other side of the plane, Steven - they had already given up asking him how he was feeling, they had always got the same answer anyway.  
Mark was sitting next to him in a way.  
In front of him sat Amanda.  
And exactly these two simply wouldn't leave him alone.

Amanda sat on her seat with her knees, hung over to Benedict, put her arms on the back of her seat and looked at him. She bowed her head, smiled down at him.  
Mark was still standing, leaning on Amanda’s seat with one hand and looking down at him too.

Ben looked up, looking questioningly as Mark grabbed his headphones so he wouldn't put them in his ears.  
"What's wrong?" he asked willingly, calmly and politely, looking at Mark.  
"That's the question you might be able to answer us sometime," Mark said with a smile.  
"I'm just tired, Mark. I've said that about 20 times today. The last week was exhausting, we only shot at night, then we flew to the Con, spent the whole day at Comic Con, now we're going back and then we're going to do another night shoot tomorrow evening. I am simply tired. I was awake at 3am and I couldn't fall asleep again," he still defended himself politely and calmly, as you knew him to be.  
Amanda bowed her head, eyed him gently, but also looked worried, feeling that Benedict wasn’t really honest with them.  
"Are you sure you're just tired?" she asked softly and worriedly.  
"Now that you mention it..., " he acted deliberately. "I think I'm just totally awake, that's why I'm so quiet and don't want to talk," he rolled his eyes sarcastically. "I. Am. Tired! Damn it!" he now growled gruffly and hit the attached table next to his seat with his flat hand - actually very untypical for the otherwise calm and composed gentleman from England. "I just want to listen to my music and sleep! Stop bugging me with your questions! This has been going on since breakfast! How many times do I have to say that I'm just tired?" he moaned grumpy, and then took a short breath. "Just leave me alone," he said a bit calmer again.  
Mark and Amanda looked down at Benedict and were briefly startled when Benedict hit the table hard and loudly. They turned their heads towards each other and looked at each other in wonder, both raised their eyebrows and then turned their heads back towards Ben, looking at him.

Mark let go of the headphones, wondering since Ben had actually been in a pretty good mood at Comic Con.  
It was strange to see Benedict act like that. Actually Ben didn't get rude or prickly when he was overtired. On the contrary, he normally got even more excited, talked funny stuff - if he was overtired he got a bit overconfident and childish. Quite contrary to Martin, who, when he was overtired, actually became grumpy if he wasn't left alone - and then something else happened to him; he became, if he was left alone, really quiet and, according to Benedict, extremely cuddly.  
Mark decided not to go on any further.  
He didn't want to let Ben's bad mood spoil his days at Comic Con, and he didn't want to start a fight with his friend and colleague just because he was too curious.  
"As you wish," he said to Ben.  
He turned around, went to his seat and sat down.

Amanda glanced briefly at Ben, who put the headphones in his ears and adjusted the music on the screen in her backrest.  
He just ignored her, hadn't even looked at her.  
She had had the same thoughts as Mark.  
It was absolutely unusual to see Benedict acting in this way. There was something almost eerie about it.  
She sighed, sat down properly, could no longer see Ben.  
Maybe he had really just slept badly, maybe something had simply annoyed him this morning.  
She could only speculate now anyway, because Benedict would certainly not address them in five minutes with an apology and explanation what was going on. Either he was really just tired or something was bothering him that he absolutely didn’t want to talk about.  
She preferred to leave him alone, perhaps he would be in a better mood in Chicago, or in London at the latest.  
Even though he was always the fine English gentleman, certainly one could not always be polite and friendly. Every now and then, a Benedict Cumberbatch, the inventor of politeness, must go off the deep end - even if she herself had never experienced it.  
Until today.

Ben started the music, leaned back.  
It would take a few more minutes before they would take off.  
He closed his eyes, listening to the music in his ears.  
And despite the great tiredness he couldn't fall asleep - he felt the tiredness, but he also felt a great inner restlessness that wouldn't let him calm down to relax enough to fall asleep.  
As soon as the board service would start, he would order another coffee, preferably three, so that the useless feeling of tiredness at least would disappear.

For the next few minutes he had simply listened to the music, but when he felt them rolling towards the runway, he also felt a hand on his shoulder.  
He pulled the headphone out of his ears, opened his eyes, turned his head around.  
Mark had managed to somehow turn to him and tap him while his seatbelts were fastened.  
"Ben?" he breathed softly and compassionately.  
He looked at him with worried eyes.  
Ben looked at him, just shaking his head.  
"Let it go, Mark. Sorry about my outrage, that was inappropriate. I'm just tired and I'd like to be by myself - until I get home. Please just let me listen to my music. “  
Mark bowed his head, nodded.  
"Okay. Sorry, Ben."  
"It's all good," Benedict said.  
They nodded to each other again.  
And then turned back again.

Benedict put the headphones in his ear again, pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket.  
He unlocked it, looked at the picture.  
It was a selfie, taken last year, just before Christmas.  
You could see Martin, with his grey slightly longer hair, a beard and a dark jumper - he beamed into the camera with his extremely charming smile and his cheeky sparkling blue eyes.  
Amelia, with her slightly curly blonde hair and blue-grey eyes, lurked into the picture in front of Martin - she showed her teeth while beaming and smiling; she was now 8 years old.  
And behind Martin you could see Christopher - who would be 10 years old in a few months. He had put his chin on his sister's head, pressed his cheek against Martin, his arms hugged both Martin's neck and Amelia's. He also beamed with his green eyes and dark blond hair.

He missed all three of them.  
He missed them terribly.  
Chris and Lia out of fatherly love.  
Martin out of friendship.  
Where and when had his love gone missing?

He looked again at the picture, looked once more into the three beaming faces of his family.  
But when the screen went black, he put the phone back in his pocket.  
It hurt to know that his love for Martin missed every romantic feeling.  
It hurt to let this extremely stunning and gorgeous man go.  
It hurt to let all those years they had spent together come to an end.  
What would they otherwise become one day?  
What would happen after the separation?  
What would happen to Lia and Christopher?  
With whom would they live and grow up?  
How were they going to explain this to their children anyway?  
They didn't have as much time for Amelia and Christopher as they would love to have anyway. The separation would mean that they would spend even less time with them, because they would have to share the little time they had.

He swallowed.  
When he just thought about it, he felt completely sick.  
When he just thought about it, he missed them terribly.  
Their relationship wasn't supposed to end like this.  
They had actually imagined something quite different for their future - growing old together, being old together.  
For example, didn't they want to go on a really big and extensive honeymoon for their 25th anniversary?  
Something they hadn’t been able to afford in such a big and extensive way at the time, but now they could.

But now - now they hadn’t even made it to their 25th wedding anniversary.  
Now they had missed it by 15 years.

The plane took off.

Benedict kept his eyes closed, daydreaming.

Time had a lot of faces.  
Time together was great; one could enjoy it as a pair of two, in sets of three or fours.  
Time apart was missing, was bearable at some point, was acceptable, was not so bad anymore.  
Losing time with each other was unpleasant.  
Turning back time could improve some things, maybe save them, maybe not make them better at all.  
Time was there to use it properly.  
Time sometimes hurts.  
Time could be disappointing if it was not used or used incorrectly.  
Time could make you happy if you found it surprisingly and spontanous.  
Time could make you angry if someone threw it away carelessly.

Time had just too many faces.


	4. Time Runs Backwards

_"Papaaaaa! Lia puts all her crap in my backpack just because she doesn't want to take hers to the zoo! Tell her to stop it," nagged Christopher as he tried to keep his sister away from his backpack._  
_Benedict looked at them, stood with his parents in their hallway. He wanted to go to the Wimbledon Finals with his father, and his mother wanted to spend today's sunny Sunday with Christopher and Amelia at the London Zoo. The two children had asked for the trip to the zoo yesterday._  
_"The day hasn't even really started yet and you two are already bickering. Why do you want to take a rucksack anyway," Benedict asked calmly._  
_"He always has to be so dramatic," commented Amelia dramatically, crossing her arms in front of her chest and rolling her eyes._  
_Christopher pulled his backpack away, now blocking the way for Amelia._

_In general, they got on very well with each other, were closely connected, loved each other as siblings and friends. They did a lot together, could play well with each other, and actually always stuck together. If one of them had done something wrong, the other one would also stand in. They could make each other laugh, listen to each other and comfort each other. They were one heart and one soul and often they were inseparable._  
_But there were also days when things were completely different - siblings, that is. One probably wanted to kill the other._  
_Such a day, such a moment, seemed to be momentary._

_Christopher unpacked Amelia's stuff and stuffed it into Amelia’s backpack again._  
_"For the jackets. And I want to take my camera with me."_  
_"Sweetheart, it's pretty warm outside, you don't need a jacket - we just took it with us in case it gets cooler tonight. Just leave the backpacks here," Benedict continued calmly._  
_"I can pack your camera into my handbag, darling", Wanda smiled in a calm and grandmotherly voice, already holding her hand to Christopher to take the camera._  
_Chris pulled out the camera, turned to his grandmother and pressed the camera into her hand. And in his grandmother's handbag the camera disappeared shortly afterwards._  
_"Then why are you wearing a proper suit when it's so warm and hot outside?" he asked his father somewhat defiantly, pushing the rucksack to the side._  
_"Because me and Grandpa have to attend in proper suits, Chris. We're sitting in the Royal Box, we were invited. The invitation said what kind of clothes we were expected to wear. I can't sit there comfortably in a T-shirt and shorts," he said with a smile._  
_Amelia knelt down to her rucksack, unpacked the things Chris had just stuffed in there, folded them up and put them back neatly. She shook her head uncomprehendingly at her brother's untidiness._  
_"Who else will be there?" Chris asked now._  
_"I don't know, darling. All I know is that Prince William will be there with Kate. I can tell you about it later."_

_He came to Chris and Amelia, who had got up again._  
_Ben smiled at them._  
_"Don't get on Grandma's last nerve," he smiled. He hugged Chris, gave him a kiss on the temple. And then he hugged Amelia, breathing a kiss on her cheek. "Have fun at the zoo."_  
_The two children smiled up to him, nodded._  
_"See you tonight, Papa," Chris beamed again, had also hugged his daddy and given him a kiss too._  
_"Yes, see you later, Papa," beamed Amelia after she had given her daddy a kiss on the lips._  
_They also waved to their grandfather again, who was already standing at the door, waiting for Benedict. And Timothy also smiled and waved. He also smiled at his wife and then opened the door, stepped outside._  
_Benedict also said goodbye to his mother, breathed a kiss on her cheek and then followed his father._

_Benedict looked forward to the day with his father and dinner with his parents and children._  
_Martin would not be there._  
_Because Martin would later go to the Hyde Park Festival - together with Amanda._  
_Somehow it went against Benedict's grain, but he hadn't said anything._  
_For quite some now Martin spent a lot of time with Amanda._  
_Actually since the beginning of this year._  
_She had even visited Martin in Puerto Rico at the beginning of the year for her birthday._  
_The two had been friends for quite a long time, and he and Amanda were friends for almost as long as she was friends with Martin. Martin had met her on the set of Men Only and a few days later he had met her as well._  
_He was quite fond of Amanda and he'd loved it when she got the role of Mary Morstan/Watson - but at the moment his and Martin's relationship wasn't looking very rosy anyway and that's why this constant going out with Amanda was getting on his nerves._  
_Not that he suspected that the two of them had anything going on, or that Martin was romantically or sexually interested in her. It was simply the fact that one of the biggest problems in their relationship was the lack of time together - and what was Martin doing? Martin preferred to meet Amanda constantly instead of spending his already scarce free time with him._

_Actually Martin had also been invited to this year's Wimbledon Final - but Martin had heard about the Hyde Park Music Festival from Amanda, and since music was one of Martin's passions, he had preferred to say yes to Amanda instead of accepting the tennis invitation._  
_Benedict could understand it a little bit. It was not a compulsory event and he knew how much Martin loved music - but he would have loved to be at the Final with his partner and not with his father, whom he had only invited because Martin was not there and he hadn't felt like attending the Final alone._  
_And he had been reluctant to decline the invitation out of politeness._

_They had even argued about it again last night, just like the day Martin had told him that he didn't feel like going to the Wimbledon Final._  
_They had argued with meaningless words._  
_They had argued without telling each other why they could not understand each other's decision._  
_They had argued without telling each other what they would much rather do._  
_Once again, they had not really talked to each other - and in the end they had even talked past each other while arguing._

_He had wanted Martin to spend time with him._  
_And Martin hadn't understood why he wanted to go to Wimbledon; Martin had just said again and again that he could cancel, after all they were not forced to accept the invitation; Martin had just said over and over again that he could join him and Amanda at the Hyde Park Festival._  
_But Martin hadn't understood his point of view - which was probably because he had only talked around it. He had just said over and over again that he didn't want to decline the invitation, that there wouldn’t be Finals every other day and that they had had the invitation for Wimbledon in their letterbox first._

_Actually, he had wanted to say: ‘I don't want to be rude and decline this invitation, and I would like to spend time with my partner without his best friend.’_  
_But he hadn't said what he actually wanted to say - he had assumed that Martin would understand that he even would have joined him at the Hyde Park Festival if Amanda wouldn’t have joined them. He had assumed that Martin would understand that it was about Amanda._  
_A wrong thought - Martin hadn’t understood what he had actually wanted to say._

_He missed Martin, because it happened more and more often and was already going on for a very long time that they hardly spent any time together - and gradually he began to get the feeling that maybe it was just friendly love. But he preferred not to think about it too much._

_A taxi had taken them to the stadium._  
_Together with his father he had walked across the grounds._  
_The press and television had also been present, and they had taken lots of pictures of him and his father._  
_They had bought themselves something to drink, chatted with other invited guests and then went to their seats._  
_Without a doubt, he would have fun with his father today, but lately he was doing a lot with his parents, even more than he was doing with Martin - even if they had been the second choice most of the time, as Martin had been hanging around with Amanda or someone else._

_He had taken a few pictures for Chris and Lia, among others with Bradley Cooper sitting next to them - and with Hugh Grant sitting diagonally behind them._

_And then he texted Martin._

_-Your pirate captain is here ;-).-_

_He had alluded to Martin's film - the animated pirate film in which Martin had lent his voice to a pirate with a scarf; Hugh Grant had spoken the captain._  
_He didn't have to wait long for a message from Martin - which was astonishing, because it usually took quite a long time for Martin to text back lately; if he got a reply to a text without a question at all, or to a message that didn't include the children._

_-Ah cool. Give him my best wishes.-_

_A concise text, no other question._  
_And when he texted him again, something he had just thought became the truth._  
_Martin didn’t answer – Martin remained silent._

_Martin was silent for the rest of the day._  
_He hadn't even texted him when he arrived at the Hyde Park Festival._  
_Ben had even sent him another text message._  
_But Martin had kept silent, had probably just enjoyed the festival._

_And yet it annoyed him, because Martin had time to answer at the festival. It was not like being at work. He himself answered only rarely or barely when he was on a set or doing other work - simply because he was elsewhere with his concentration and it was impolite to be on the mobile phone all the time while working. No matter if on the set, at an interview or wherever. It was the same for Martin, and he wasn't angry with him, he wasn't disappointed, he wouldn't start a fight about it with Martin._  
_But the festival was a private affair, even though some pictures were certainly taken there as well - basically it was a private evening._  
_Martin had read his text message and yet he had not replied._  
_And that too had been creeping into their behaviour towards each other for a while now - this silence on the mobile phone, the phone, Skype, little secret notes._  
_There had been times when they had taken much more care of it._  
_There had been times when they had had some form of daily contact with each other, and that was not so long ago._

_The dinner with his children and his parents had been great, even though he had been in a bad mood (of course not showing it) because of Martin._  
_He had also enjoyed the tennis match - and to everyone's delight even Andy Murray had won the Final. His father and he had even congratulated him later - and Andy Murray had expressed his enthusiasm for Sherlock._  
_The dinner had nevertheless been more beautiful than the rest of the day._  
_It was always incredibly lovely when he had his children with him, and on top of that he had been able to enjoy the evening with his parents too._

_His mother, Chris and Amelia seemed to have had a pretty great and eventful day at the zoo - and according to his mother, Chris and Lia had been a heart and a soul at the zoo again._

_Only one person was missing._  
_Martin._  
_The son-in-law._  
_The daddy._  
_The husband._

_The next frustration struck him hard in the late evening._  
_He had asked Martin via WhatsApp, when he would come home. He had thought about waiting if it wasn't going to be too long._  
_But Martin had only read the message and not replied._  
_Apparently, questions weren’t important enough to reply to any longer, too._

_He had defiantly gone to bed, the children had been in bed for a while anyway - because tomorrow it was time to go back to school before the holidays were about to start._  
_But before they both had gone to bed, they both had beamed and let him know:_  
_"You'll turn 40 in nine days, Papa! Then it's your birthday!"_  
_This countdown had started 5 days ago._

_After he had put himself to bed, he had fallen asleep straight away - tomorrow they would both have a day off, before continuing shooting Sherlock in London, while Martin could enjoy another day off._

_Two hours after falling asleep, he felt movement next to him._  
_It woke him up a bit, and yet he did not move._  
_He sleeply perceived what was happening._

_Nothing._

_He could see the burning light before his closed eyes._  
_He could feel how the mattress moved._  
_He could feel Martin lifting his blanket._  
_Then the light disappeared in front of his closed eyelids._  
_Martin turned on his side, looked in his direction._  
_His breath ran down his neck, but Martin didn't touch him._

_Nothing._

_Not a goodnight kiss - which he knew Martin gave not only the children, but also him, even if he was already asleep or looked like he was sleeping or pretended to be sleeping, just to feel that one soft and so tenderly thoughtful goodnight kiss, and to hear that softly loving voice telling him: ‘Sleep well, Benny. I love you’._

_Nothing today._

_No cuddling as if he were Martin's personal stuffed animal._  
_Something that not only Martin actually did, but he himself was quite good at. And Martin was even more suitable as a stuffed animal - simply because of his size and because he looked much too sweet and cuddly._

_Nothing today._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Benedict flinched when the stewardess touched him on the shoulder and took him out of his daydream - out of the day that happened not so long ago.  
He looked up confused, blinked briefly, rubbed his eyes and then took one of the plugs out of his ear.  
"Hmh?" he asked - then he smiled politely, as one knew it from him.  
Actually his mood had reached hell after this daydream.  
Remaining polite was still the motto.  
It wasn’t the fault of the nice stewardess that the fine and dear Mr. Freeman didn't perform his nightly ritual any more, that he didn't answer questions via WhatsApp, and that the fine and dear Mr. Freeman was constantly wandering around with the woman who was sitting in front of him in the plane.  
"Excuse Mr. Cumberbatch. Your colleagues thought you could use some coffee," she smiled.  
She already had the coffee with her, bent over him a little and put the coffee on the table before standing up straight again.  
Benedict looked at her, then at the coffee - back up to the stewardess.  
"Um, thank you. I could actually use two."  
"No problem. I can come back when you've finished that one, or do you want me to bring you another one right away?" she asked politely.  
"Rather right away than later," he smiled politely.  
The stewardess gave him a friendly nod.

He had to wait a short moment, sipping his first coffee.  
Smiling, the stewardess also placed the second cup on his table, with milk and sugar and a small biscuit.

He had emptied both cups quite quickly.  
And when the biscuits had disappeared in his stomach, too, he dived into the next daydream.


	5. The Second Family

_Benedict was sitting at one of the tables in the meeting room in a T-shirt and shorts - or rather, he was sitting in his assigned seat. A bottle of water and a tea stood in front of him, and next to it were two bananas._

_Today they would start with the read-through for the last episode of season four. He was excited about the last episode, as probably everyone else who didn't know exactly what would happen._  
_He loved Sherlock. It was one of the roles that he actually loved to impersonate most. And he could go on forever. Whether it would really continue after this season was not yet clear. He had a lot of appointments and so did Martin. And it was quite clear that if either of them should quit, or even together - Mark and Steven would definitely not replace them or any of them._  
_But even if it were the case that they would not see each other again for Sherlock after this season - he would look back on the time with joy._  
_On three fantastically great seasons and one special._  
_Season 4, he somehow couldn't really count._  
_Season 4 felt different._

_He had always loved coming to the Sherlock set - they had quickly grown together as one big family, probably because some of them were actually related or living together. Like Sue and Steven, Arwel and Claire, him and Martin. Then there was Sue's mother, his parents, and Stevens and Sue's son Louis._  
_And these were just a few examples._

_Each time it had been like a big family reunion - a big and long one, with fun and pleasant days, with nerve-racking days; with days when nothing had worked. And yet he had been able to look back on every season and also on the special and say that it had been an incredibly great time._  
_He had loved Sherlock especially because he worked on this project together with Martin - and that had always meant that they had a little more time together as a couple. Of course they were here to work and not to cuddle or make out or do anything else. But they had seen each other, they had been able to talk and eat with each other - they had been able to go home with each other to some extent and also used the weekends much more intensively, no matter whether any of them had had an appointment or not. And they had also been able to spend the nights together much more often - as a couple, as lovers._

_Someone else had actually been designated for the role, but when they had invited Martin to the casting and saw him play a part with him, it was clear that Martin was the perfect Watson to his Sherlock - and that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Martin was his partner. He hadn't even known about the decision to invite Martin until the letter had been in the mailbox and Martin's agent had told them._

_Having the husband on set had always been great - a little more time, a joint project, something they could really talk about without having to keep anything secret for contractual reasons._  
_And their two children were also quite well known and popular on the set._  
_It was a family reunion of a special kind._  
_And he could actually say for himself that the Sherlock team was his second family._

_But with this season it was somehow different._  
_It felt different._  
_More and more he noticed that Martin was slipping more and more out of his hands, that he somehow lost him more and more, even though he was so close to him - even though there were hugs, kisses, caresses and cuddles._  
_But more and more it seemed to turn into deep friendship with the small addition that they exchanged a few physical caresses._  
_If he was honest, he felt that this season Sherlock and John were much closer than he and Martin._  
_That was not a good feeling._  
_It scared him, it made him sad, it disappointed him, it also made him angry in some way._  
_They had known each other for 21 years, they had been friends for 21 years, they had actually been best friends since the moment they met; they had done and got through so much together, achieved so much, fought for so much, experienced so much together; they had two children together, they were married._  
_Sherlock and John shouldn’t be closer to each other than Martin and him. Not after 21 years of friendship and partnership and unconditional love._  
_It was an absurdity, and yet his feeling told him that it was exactly like that at the moment._

_His parents were here again, sitting at the table too, his mother had just smiled over to him and he had smiled back too._  
_Better smile before she noticed something was wrong, pelting him with questions._  
_He didn't want to cause her any worries, because he knew how much his parents loved Martin, the relationship and marriage._

_Martin also strolled into the room, apparently talking to someone._  
_Martin walked towards him, put his bag down, took off his thin jacket, hung it over the chair, then sat down with him._  
_He felt Martin's hand on his thigh as it gently rubbed back and forth, then gently tapped twice and lay still._  
_"Can you believe it's the third time we've been back here? The time just sort of passed by so quickly again."_  
_Ben nodded._  
_"That's right. It's a pity, actually. Who knows if there'll be a new season?"_  
_Martin tilted his head, now pulled his hand back, put it on Benedict's shoulder, who turned towards him a little more._  
_"Very sad, yes. So far the season has been quite exciting, even if sometimes emotionally not very easy to play. It has been pretty intense. I'm looking forward to the final episode. And I hope that sometime next year or the year after that it doesn't mean that it was actually the final. I would also like to keep on filming. I love Watson and I know how much you love Sherlock," he smiled._  
_"Yes, a pretty exciting season. I'm curious what the fans will say about it next year," he smiled._  
_"They'll probably hate me because I beat you up," Martin smiled._  
_"As long as they hate only you and not my dear Sherlock," Ben grinned with him._  
_"I don't think there will ever be a day where they will hate your Sherlock - but who knows what will happen in the last episode," Martin grinned._  
_Ben waggled his eyebrows._

_They both smiled at each other._  
_And Ben's hand now also found its way onto Martin's shoulder, squeezing gently as well._  
_"But even if it was the last season, it was definitely a great time. And well, it doesn't have to be the last project we work or have worked on together. With you as Dr. Everett Ross and me as Doctor Stephen Strange, we might even run into each other in the Marvel Universe," he smiled to Martin._  
_Martin also smiled at him, nodding._  
_"That would be…_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Again he startled out of his daydream and flashback, in the middle of the conversation he had had with Martin - but this time not because he had been touched, but because suddenly a song sounded too loud for his taste in his ear, as if it had been recorded too loud. He startled because of the volume and he didn't really like the song either.  
He turned the sound down, sighed.  
His hand raised, rubbing over the left eye and then over the right eye.  
He sighed again, ran his fingers through his hair.

In fact, during this season he had thought several times that Sherlock and John had a better relationship than he currently has with Martin.  
That was absolutely wrong.  
It should not be like this.  
It didn’t mean that he hadn't been able to enjoy the shooting of the previous season.  
He had enjoyed it.  
The season was damn exciting, it was sad, there were a lot of surprises - it was an absolute drama and would probably send the fans through quite a lot of emotional states.  
He liked the season and he liked the story of this season.  
And he had a lot of fun shooting the individual episodes. They weren't quite finished yet, but he knew that the last days of shooting would certainly be fun for him too.  
The only thing that bothered him this season was his icy relationship with Martin. It wasn't as loving as during the special, not as loving as during the first three seasons.  
It had changed and that took away some of the joy of shooting the current Sherlock season.  
And when he thought about what he was going to do in London with Martin and their relationship, he knew that his good mood would probably be quite clouded.  
Because either his mood would would be completely down, because he would break up during the current shooting. Or his mood would be completely down because he knew that he would break up after the shooting, after his days in Los Angeles, which followed immediately afterwards.  
Either way, the joy about the last days of shooting would be limited - no matter how much fun was waiting for him according to the script.

His children had also been on the set from time to time.  
It was always great to have them around, especially as they could now really understand what it was all about, what was happening, what was going on there. For the first two seasons they had been quite young, and for a rather complex series like Sherlock, they had been quite young for the 3rd season too - at the age of 8 and 6 they certainly hadn't understood the complete and complex range.  
They had the most fun on the set again this year, especially with Toby the dog.

Amelia was an avid Mary fan - hadn't liked it at all when she found out that Mary would not survive the season. She had even begged Mark and Steven to rewrite it - but Mark and Steven had stuck to their version, consoled her, and then she had forgiven them in no time.  
And Chris, a big fan of Mycroft, had insisted on re-enacting some of the Mycroft scenes during the breaks - of course with Mark as a spectator and jury member.

It had also been generally nice to have Martin around - but the immense joy had not arisen as it usually had done.  
Of course, they could talk non-stop, make each other laugh, cheer each other up again, fool around, tease each other a bit and make fun of each other. And on set they let their private life take a back seat anyway, so that they didn't normally cuddle or kiss constantly too - but it had been a different feeling.  
Even in the evenings at the hotel, a romantic feeling had rarely arisen - even though they had cuddled and snuggled, even though they had kissed and caressed each other.

The tingling in the tummy was missing.  
The tachycardia was missing.  
The joy of falling asleep and waking up with the other one was missing.  
It had said goodbye, or was simply hiding under lack of care for the relationship.  
At the moment he had the impression that it had said goodbye.

This feeling made him sad again - although he had had such a great weekend at Comic Con with some of his second family.  
He had skyped with his children, even with Martin.  
He had had a great time at the Con, had been secretly hanging around Comic Con with the others - dressed up; Amanda, Mark and him. They had filmed it - nobody had recognised them. They had been wandering around the stands for several hours, and they had not been recognised and stopped.  
It had been a great feeling.  
It had been almost like a private trip with his second family.

And at home he also had a few days of shooting with his second family to look forward to.  
Two night shootings - Tuesday and Wednesday.  
Thursday morning free; Friday, Saturday, Sunday free.  
One week shooting in London.  
Friday - end of shooting and wrap party.

But he wouldn't even be at the wrap party, because shortly after the end of shooting he would have to leave for the airport.  
Once again to LA for a few days.  
Interview, press and shooting appointments for Doctor Strange.  
Quite different from his dream, because in his dream he had been able to join Martin, had gladly joined him.

There were actually enough days left to look forward to and yet there was this decision in the back of his mind that after Sherlock season 4 everything would be completely different.

A family that would break apart.  
And the second family he might never see again in this constellation.


	6. A Special

_The day had been long._  
_Long and exhausting._  
_Cold and damp - wet._

_They had shot, shot for the Sherlock Special - The Abominable Bride. A special that was set in Victorian London._  
_He was very enthusiastic about it - especially because he liked the Victorian Sherlock hair much better._  
_No curls._  
_His hair had had to grow just as long, but it had simply been curled strictly backwards - and he liked that much better than the curls the modern Sherlock wore._  
_And on top of that it was hilarious to see Martin with that big moustache. Martin had bitterly complained at the read-through about the moustache - but after he hadn't managed to get rid of the damn moustache, as Martin had called it, he had managed to get at least a really big one._

_Together with Martin he entered the hotel room._  
_It was late in the evening - they had just had a brief contact with the children via the Skype app on their mobile phones; Martin's mother was with them, looked after them._  
_Tonight they had been waiting for a personal good-night message face to face._  
_And they had fulfilled the wish of their children - they had talked to them briefly about the day before sending them two goodnight kisses via Skype, as well as a: ‘We love you and sleep well’._

_Martin closed the door behind him, slipped out of his shoes, Ben did the same._  
_He was freezing - it was only January and not only had they shot a scene with artificial rain all day long, it had snowed and been very windy outside; and so the short walk to the cab had seemed incredibly long, like a march across the North Pole._  
_Martin rubbed his hands together._  
_"I can't wait to get in the shower."_  
_Ben also rubbed his hands together, breathing warm air into it._  
_"Same here. I'm an icicle." He rubbed his red nose._  
_"At some point I was just freezing too much. I think there's a point where you can do whatever you want, you can't warm yourself up anymore. As soon as you're really freezing, even feeling cold inside - no more lukewarm rainwater, no more tea, no thick jacket during the break and no dry clothes will help. And then there's also this horrible weather outside the studio," Martin grumbled a little._  
_Ben smiled, took him by the hand._  
_"I know what you mean, I got to that point just after the lunch break," he smiled. "It's pretty mean. Our children tell us how they played in the winter sun in the school yard, and we stood in the rain all day long."_  
_"An impertinence," grinned Martin, let himself be led by the hand._

_Ben sighed in the bathroom._  
_"I would sell my soul right now for our big bathtub. Just imagine that. Our huge cosy bathtub, full of hot water and foam, with a glass of wine, or your delicious hot chocolate, and I wouldn't say no to a bar of chocolate.“_  
_"Oh Benny! Come on! Did you have to remind me?! I've just tried to forget about it," commented Martin and let go of Benedict's hand. He pulled his jumper over his head._  
_"Sorry, all I can think about since noon is the bathtub," said Ben, dejectedly, pulling his jumper over his head._  
_Both jumpers fell to the floor._  
_"It's the same for me, but I've been able to forget it in between," smiled Martin. "I guess we'll have to accept that we just have a shower. And we don't have wine and chocolate either, and I can't make you any hot chocolate. I'm sorry, darling.“_  
_Ben nodded dejectedly._  
_"Yes, unfortunately. Cuddling in the bathtub is more comfortable. And I don't like the wine, chocolate and hot chocolate situation either.“_  
_"We will cuddle under the blanket in bed after taking a shower," Martin smiled, then pulled the T-shirt over his head. "And when we're at home at the weekend I'll make you some hot chocolate and when the kids are in bed we'll enjoy wine and chocolate in the bathtub."_  
_Ben smiled down at him; he liked Martin's suggestion, nodded enthusiastically and confirmed the plan. And then he pulled his white T-shirt over his head and threw it on the floor as well._

_They also got rid of the trousers, shorts and socks._  
_Martin turned the shower on, turned the water hotter on, stayed away from the shower jet himself until only warm, almost hot water shot out._  
_They had enough of the cold water today._  
_And in general, neither of them liked cold water very much - not even when showering._

_When Benedict saw the steam, he put his arms around Martin's chest, toddled with him under the jet - and they both sighed with relish._  
_They closed their eyes, protecting them from water._  
_Benedict felt Martin's small body in his arms, felt Martin put his hands on his forearms, pressing them more to himself._  
_Ben laid his cheek against Martin's head, enjoyed the small body, Martin's presence and the almost hot water._  
_It was all a welcoming change._  
_Finally, warmth._  
_Finally his husband in his arms._  
_He blindly pressed a kiss on Martin's side of the head, heard him sigh with relish._

_They both stayed in the same place for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth that took over again._  
_Martin turned around in Benedict's arms, raised his hands, wiped his eyes, opened them._  
_Benedict already looked at him smiling, had pushed the shower head down a little further, so that it was now at the height of Martin's shoulder._  
_Ben smiled at his husband, who rubbed his chest affectionately._  
_"It's like defrosting, isn't it?" Martin grinned._  
_"It almost creaked exactly like it does when hot water meets frozen ice cubes," Ben grinned cheekily._  
_"It's mean and unfair that I can't make jokes about your age," Martin grinned. “My body isn’t creaking!”_  
_"You can't make one about my size either," Ben laughed now, but rubbed reassuringly over Martin's back._  
_"If you don’t stop being cheeky, I'll think about the cuddling under the blanket part," Martin grinned somewhat grumpy._  
_"It's funny that you still let me tease you with it. You know very well that I like it that you are a few years older than me. And you know how much I love the fact that you're smaller than me, sweetie.”_  
_"Oh, come on, honey. You're trying to tease and provoke me with it. You're trying to provoke me because you like it when I am grumpy. ", grinned Martin. "You say it deliberately provocative to make me angry, although I know that you don't mind my height or age. I know you like that I'm older. And I know that you like that I'm small - that's why I'm often abused as your stuffed animal. And I also know that you like me being grumpy, you wouldn't stand it at all if I was as polite and sweet as you are."_  
_Ben smiled, winked, smiled a bit too, because Martin was absolutely right, with everything he had said._  
_He still felt the warm water on his body, which continued to warm him up._  
_"You're right about everything you said. I like that you're older; I like that you're a grumpy man and it would be damn boring and unbearable if you were as polite and kind as I am. There would be something very important missing. And you just make yourself so damn good as a stuffed animal. You're not only small, you're also... soft, and just quite cute."_  
_Martin grinned, shook his head with a smile. He put his hand on the back of Benedict's head, pushed him down a little bit._  
_Benedict knew why Martin was about to kiss him - Martin wanted him to shut up, because now he had also addressed his little belly. He smiled, closed his eyes and enjoyed the kiss._

_He laid his hands on Martin's shoulders, joined his kiss._  
_It was great to kiss Martin._  
_He had beautiful soft lips that were slightly rough._  
_Lips that tasted incredibly good._  
_Lips that were damn good at kissing._  
_He had always been a very skilled kisser._  
_He had always kissed like that - he had learned nothing in all these years, because it was simply not possible. He hadn't had to learn, because Martin had already had an incredibly good feeling for it._  
_He was a very gifted kisser and that was quite good for Benedict._

_Ben ran his hand into Martin's hair at the back of his head, felt Martin's hands moving across his back. His fingertips caressed every millimetre - tenderly._  
_Martin's teeth nibbled gently at his lower lip, the lips kissed him gently afterwards, and then the lips stopped kissing him but showing a smile._  
_They tilted their heads back a little._  
_Martin looked up._  
_Benedict looked down, breathed another kiss on the tip of Martin's nose._  
_They smiled at each other._  
_Martin's fingernails scratched lovingly and gently across Benedict's back, down the spine and up again to the hairline._  
_Benedict's fingers crawled Martin's hairline at the back of his neck._  
_They knew what the other one loved - and that's exactly what they were giving themselves._  
_Goose bumps spread over both bodies, even though they were still standing under the almost hot broad jet of water that came out of the shower._

_"If we're standing here any longer, I'm cooked to the bone," Ben smiled._  
_Martin smiled, turned a little and grabbed the shower gel and shampoo. With one finger he nudged at Benedict's firm stomach._  
_"You don't feel like you're cooked to the bone. More like you've just been thrown in the water."_  
_"Was that a compliment?" grinned Ben._  
_"Yes, a hidden one," Martin grinned too._  
_"Thank you."_  
_"My pleasure," winked Martin._

_And then the shower gel and shampoo was distributed._  
_On the shoulders, in the hair, carefully in the face._  
_On the chest, the arms, the back, the bottom._  
_It was gently distributed to every inch Martin could reach._  
_It was distributed by massaging._

_After their shower, they went to bed – as naked as they were._  
_They both rummaged through their suitcases, both put on shorts, and they both slipped into pyjama bottoms._  
_Usually Martin was the one who slept in pyjama bottoms when it was cooler; Benedict usually wore only boxer shorts or even nothing at all when he slept - only rarely did he wear a T-shirt, and almost never did he wear pyjama bottoms or a sweater. But today he had just needed pyjama bottoms and he even pulled one of his hoodies over his head._

_"Wow!" commented Martin._  
_Ben had to grin._  
_"Do I look that good in it?"_  
_"You know exactly what I mean, you weirdo," Martin grinned._

_Benedict nodded with a grin. He crawled into bed, pushed one of the blankets out of the bed and lifted the blanket he used for Martin._  
_Martin's broad grin had disappeared, he smiled just softly, crawled into bed, also wearing pyjama bottoms and a hoodie; he slipped under the blanket._  
_They cuddled up, snuggled up, their hands disappeared under the clothes._

_Martin's right hand slipped under Benedict's hoodie, the left hand slipped into the pyjama bottoms._  
_Benedict's hands both slipped under Martin's hoodie._  
_Martin smiled at Ben, lying with his head on the same pillow; he closed his eyes._  
_Ben smiled, eyed Martin, his hair that was getting greyer and greyer, the few wrinkles, the shaved cheeks that were quite red from the hot shower. And then he heard this great pleasant voice._

_"The special is great, isn't it?" Martin asked with his eyes closed._  
_Benedict's fingers began to crawl Martin's back - who immediately shivered pleasantly._  
_"Yeah, it's fantastic. It’s lovely that we are shooting a special. And it's great that it is set in Victorian England."_  
_Martin had also begun caressing Benedict's back with his fingertips, and even his thumb hidden in Benedict’s pyjama bottoms caressed the luscious bum softly._  
_"Yes, a lovely thing to do. Even though I like the curls of Sherlock. And Watson without the moustache."_  
_Ben smiled and closed his eyes._  
_"You know I like it when you wear beards, although I must say I don't like moustaches. But amazingly, even with those ridiculous moustaches, you still look attractive. Not quite as hot as usual, but still attractive - I would have taken you even with a moustache if you had one back then. And I seem to be the only one who doesn't like Sherlock’s curls."_  
_Martin grinned with closed eyes._  
_"Yes, you're the only one, darling. Everyone likes the Sherlock’s curls, adapt yourself a little," smirked Martin, rubbing briefly over Benedict's back. "In 1995 I hadn't grown a beard at all. But I'm relieved to know that you would have taken the moustached Martin too."_  
_Ben smiled._  
_"That's right, it didn't start for you until a few years later. But I was your first fan."_

_Martin opened his eyes together with Ben, smiling sweetly._  
_"First fan of me or my beard?"_  
_"When you ask me like that, both of course," Ben grinned. "I mean, hello? I was your first stage door fan, you should really acknowledge that a bit more. You even said it back then."_  
_Martin laughed softly, slid closer, cuddled himself closer._  
_"This is true. Somehow strange now, isn't it?", Martin grinned broadly. "Back then you were pretty shy; I even had to ask you what your name was because you didn't introduce yourself - and today, today quite a few fans are waiting for you at the stage door. This year you're playing Hamlet, I bet the Stage Door will almost be knocked down again because of you.”_  
_"Hmm, very weird when one thinks about it now. But it's the same for you. Back then, it was just me standing there, waiting for you..."_  
_Martin interrupted him with a smile._  
_"Yes, today it's not just one pretty cute and shy young adult waiting at the stage door, today there are lots of girls and young women, sometimes older women, a few men."_  
_Ben grinned._  
_"But I got rid off my shyness."_  
_"Towards me, in any case," Martin grinned._

_They smiled at each other._  
_Because they both knew that Ben still was very shy with colleagues whose fan he was._  
_He himself didn’t like it._  
_Martin seemed to think it was quite cute – and he was always telling him that he himself was also shy when he met a colleague whose fan he was._  
_They leaned their foreheads against each other, gave each other a kiss. And a second kiss followed as the smiles disappeared from their faces._  
_They ended their soft and gentle kisses, rubbed their noses against each other._  
_Their eyes were closed again._

_Martin slipped a little lower, cuddled the face in Benedict's crook of the neck, absorbed the smell. He now reached Benedict's feet with his and took advantage of that. The hands had stopped caressing, just resting gently on his bottom and back - but he now played footsie with Ben._  
_Benedict smiled with his eyes closed. He was still crawling Martin's back, but he also joined the play._

_The silence in the room was pleasant, made them both calm down more and more, let the excitement of the day slowly fade away._  
_It was comfortably warm in bed - and the cosiness was doubled by the warm clothes and warm bodies._

_Benedict felt his heart beating faster, felt his stomach tingle slightly. He enjoyed Martin's cuddling, enjoyed his warm little body, cuddling up to him, tired and looking for protection._  
_He pulled a hand out of the hoodie, let it run into Martin's dark blond and grey hair. He had stopped crawling his back, but now he played with his hair and he still played footsie with Martin, who sighed and purred with relish._  
_Martin's hair was still slightly damp; it was soft and thick - it was great to play with the strands, it was great to run the hand through it, it was great to kiss it._  
_He bowed his head slightly and pressed a kiss into his slightly damp hair._  
_He then buried his nose in it, absorbed the smell._  
_He felt his husband smile, felt it against his neck and felt it in his heart. He knew exactly what made Martin smile._  
_Of course he knew, after all they knew each other since almost 20 years._

_It was unimaginable._  
_He had never expected his life to be like this - neither privately nor professionally._  
_The man who cuddled and snuggled with him right now, who played footsie with him and occasionally pressed a kiss on his neck, had been his first big love - because of Martin he had bought another ticket to see the play and him a second time; because of Martin he had almost had a heart attack while waiting at the stage door and talking to him – but it had been incredibly worthwhile._

_Here he lay after all these years with the young Martin Freeman from the stage door, who was now much older and more mature; with the unknown actor, who was now world-famous and seemed to have just fallen asleep in his arms; with the sweet young man with the button nose - with his sleeping husband he lay here in this bed, would continue shooting the Sherlock Special in a few hours._

_He pulled his hand out of Martin's hair, slowly turning around a bit._  
_He took the mobile phone off the table, set the alarm clock, put it back._  
_He turned back to Martin, pulled him into his arms properly again - there was a short humming, cuddling up properly again, sleeping on as if nothing had ever happened._  
_Ben smiled, put his hand back in Martin's hair._  
_He pressed a breathy and careful kiss into it._

_"Sleep well. I love you," he murmured softly - something that not only he did._


	7. Growing up

_Benedict leaned with his upper arm against the door frame of Amelia's room.  
His gaze was gently directed towards the two people in the room.  
It was still very early in the morning, but although he had been on the road a lot lately and had slept little, he was fit as a fiddle today. This year he had already had an incredible number of press and interview appointments, had started shooting for some movies which would be released next year, had partly shot pickups for the movies being released this year; 12 Years a Slave, Osage County and Star Trek: Into Darkness had already been released this year. The Fifth Estate would be released in October, followed by Little Favour and in December The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug._

_But today there was something else in his schedule, something that was much more exciting and beautiful than any premiere, than any award ceremony, than all the filming and shooting of movies and series.  
Amelia would have her first day of school today.  
He was pleased and proud, even though she had actually been at school for a long time - in a way. Nevertheless, school would really start today - the first year._

_He looked at Martin and Amelia, who sat on her bed with a navy blue jacket, a white blouse, dark grey skirt and black shoes. She seemed nervous.  
Martin knelt in front of her with jeans and a blue and white checked shirt.  
Amelia was his little princess - and he was possibly Amelia's greatest hero.  
Every child was more attracted to one parent, even if they loved both unconditionally, and sometimes you could hardly feel the difference - but there were situations when it became clear who the caregiver was: when you were sick, when you were really sad, when you were really scared, when you were overtired.  
In Amelia's case, this priority person was Martin.  
She could cling to him like a limpet and she never got tired of cuddling, kissing and hugging him - Benedict could understand her; Martin was an amazing cuddling partner and you could hardly keep your hands off him. As soon as Martin was around you always felt the need to hug him, caress him, kiss him, cuddle him, protect him.  
He was just too cute - almost like a puppy. That's probably why he was compared to a hedgehog - hedgehogs were also small, cute and people wanted to protect them._

_Amelia looked down at Martin.  
"Do we really have to go, Daddy?" asked the 5-year-old nervously.  
Martin smiled fatherly, raised his hand, caressed her cheek.  
"We should, anytime soon, yes," he said in a fatherly warm voice. "Why are you so nervous, sunshine?"  
"Well, because I'm going to school, Daddy! ", she said excitedly.  
"But you’re going to school for quite a long time now - first you went there for kindergarten, then preschool and now it's just another building on the school grounds, with all your friends, sweetie."  
"But now it’s the real school, the real first year of school. This is different, Daddy. Chris was really nervous last year too. He was just acting cool," she babbled._

_Benedict felt someone at his side, looked down, saw Christopher hugging his side as he was also watching Martin and Amelia. He was dressed for school, today he would start his second year - next year the junior level would begin. Like Amelia, he wore a navy blue jacket, a white shirt, a navy blue tie, dark grey trousers and black shoes.  
The still 6-year-old pursed his lips during Amelia's commentary.  
Benedict smiled, already knowing that Christopher had been just as nervous last year - last year's cool behaviour at that exact time hadn’t helped to trick either Ben nor Martin._

_Martin smiled gently.  
"I think we were all a bit nervous when we started school, but you look a bit too nervous, dear. I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun this year and you're even in the same building as Christopher again. He won't let you down," Martin said gently.  
"I would never do that! We always stick together.", said Chris, smiling again.  
Martin and Amelia turned their heads around and smiled at Ben and Christopher. Their faces were beaming.  
"Promise?" Amelia asked.  
"Yes, I promise." Chris replied smiling. "But can we finally go? I finally want to tell Nick and Mila what we did over the summer holidays," he said impatiently.  
Amelia sighed, then slowly stood up.  
Martin also stood up again, was immediately hugged by Amelia. He wrapped his arms around her neck and hold her tight.  
His eyes flew to Benedict, who smiled at him loving and proud. _

_Amelia stepped back again, running towards Benedict - Christopher had scampered down the stairs.  
She wanted to hug Benedict around his stomach, but he squatted down, caressed her cheek gently, then hugged her lovingly.  
And now she too could wrap her arms around his neck - it was simply much better at eye level.  
"Daddy's right, honey. You're not alone and you know everything and everybody there. Now you are one of the big girls," he smiled softly and breathed a kiss on her cheek "Chris is there for you if there's anything you need, and your friends, who are also having their first real day of school today, are certainly nervous too - you can help each other.“  
Amelia smiled, hugged him, gave him a kiss too, nodded slightly.  
She stepped back, smiled at him and then she followed Christopher, who was still waiting impatiently._

_When Ben stood up again, Martin put his hand on his cheek; he caressed the cheek with his thumb, stretched and breathed a kiss on Ben’s lips. He smiled at him, ran his hand through Benedict's hair on the side of the head, then squeezed the shoulder, letting his hand run over the thin dark jumper, caressing the back.  
"Let's go before Amelia starts more wild speculations about the first day of school out of nervousness, or Christopher starts talking nonsense out of impatience," Martin smiled affectionately.  
Ben nodded with a smile, but before he let Martin go, he gave him a kiss on the lips. _

_They broke apart, walked downstairs and joined an impatiently waiting Christopher and a nervous-looking Amelia.  
And then they left for Aldenham Preparation School._

_In front of the school they got out of the car._

_Chris smiled at them and could hardly wait to say goodbye.  
He hugged Ben, hugged him tightly, pressed two kisses on his cheek - and Ben also hugged him dearly, rubbed gently over his back and then gave him two kisses.  
"Have fun today, sweetie," he winked. "And take care of Lia, so she knows that her big brother is there for her no matter what," he whispered at the end.  
"I'm sure I will, Papa," he beamed at him. "I will. I promise I will take care of her," he whispered promisingly at the end.  
Ben even got a third kiss, then he waved goodbye.  
Christopher hugged Martin, gave him a few kisses, talked briefly with him – and then he turned his head to Amelia.  
"I'm here waiting for you," he pointed to two children who seemed to be waiting for him, his best friends Nick and Mila. He didn't give Amelia a chance to answer, he was already running away, desperately wanting to tell them all about the amazing and cool things they had done during the summer holidays, where they were, what he had seen, who he had met - and he was also desperate to hear what his best friends had done during the holidays._

_Amelia looked after him - she knew Nick and Mila, they had often visited Chris. She liked them and was friends with them too.  
She turned to Martin and Benedict, hugged Martin, who, like Benedict, was still squatting on the pavement.  
She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face against the crook of his neck.  
"I love you, Daddy," she murmured.  
"Aw, I love you too, sweetie," he smiled and kissed her cheek. "Have a good time darling, and look after Chris, make sure he doesn't do as much nonsense as last year," he grinned softly at the end.  
"Yes, I'll look after him," she smiled amusedly. She pressed another big kiss on his cheek and one on his lips, then slowly stepped back.  
Her head turned to Ben; Martin was already standing up.  
Ben smiled at her, nudged her nose.  
They hugged each other.  
"I love you too, Papa," she murmured softly.  
"I love you very much too, my darling. Enjoy your first day at school," he smiled. "I'll look forward to seeing you later and hearing about your day."  
Amelia beamed, gave him a kiss on the cheek, then another on the lips.  
"There’s for sure a lot to talk about," she smiled a little more confidently.  
Ben nodded with a smile._

_He stood up, stepped next to Martin and put his arm around his husband.  
Amelia waved again, then turned around and ran towards Christopher, Nick and Mila.  
But halfway through she stopped, turned around again and called something in Benedict's and Martin's direction.  
"Now I'm a big girl too," she beamed, waved again and then she ran to Christopher._

_Benedict and Martin smiled and waved again.  
And then Benedict gave his partner a kiss on the temple.  
Martin smiled, looked at Amelia for a moment, then turned a little more towards Ben and caressed his stomach.  
"Do you fancy a little spontaneous breakfast date?"  
"I absolutely do." Ben smiled._

_\-----------------------------------------------------------------------_

_A year earlier, things had been similar.  
As in previous years, they didn’t have any appointments on the day after the summer holidays. They wanted to be there for their kids on the first day of the new year, regardless of whether they had gone to kindergarten every year a few years ago, then to pre-school and now, for Christopher, into his first real school year - they just wanted to be there for them.  
Their family life was not what was considered as normal. They both travelled a lot and somehow it became more and more, longer and longer - bigger and bigger projects; which was absolutely great from a professional perspective. They had both grown into very famous and beloved actors and they were both very proud of that - of themselves as well as of the other.  
Nevertheless, they were always looking for normality in their family life. Family holidays, bringing the children back to Aldenham on the first day after the summer holidays, celebrating Christmas together, as well as New Year's Eve.  
Everything else was luck if they could do it as a family - it was luck if they were both present at the children's birthdays; it was luck if they could both go to an event at school.  
Nevertheless, they tried to bring as much normality into their family life as possible. If one of them had the time, he would take the children to school, or at that time still to kindergarten. They drove them to friends, to excursions, took them to trips and adventures, went to the cinema and children's theatre with them, visited their relatives - and these were just a few examples.  
It worked the way they were doing it.  
The children were happy.  
They were not overly stressed.  
That was enough._

_Christopher had walked around the flat cool and easy going in the morning of his first day at school a year ago. He had overplayed his nervousness with coolness. And everyone in the house had noticed this, even if nobody had talked about it.  
He had been older when he had started school.  
He had almost been 6 years old, because his birthday was in October - actually he would have loved to go to school even earlier, because he was quite curious and inquisitive, and he knew quite a lot, but the school system in England required that you have to be at least 5 years old when you enter the first year of school. _

_Right now he roamed the house - had just had a little breakfast.  
Toast with jam.  
He had brushed his teeth, was now on his way to his room.  
Benedict had wanted to help him getting dressed, but Christopher wanted to do it alone.  
"I'm a big boy, Papa," he said on the way to his room, leaving Benedict standing at the door to the bathroom._

_Ben tilted his head with a smile.  
Just as Martin was the greatest hero for Amelia, he was the greatest hero for Christopher.  
Chris was always at his side, even at premieres, on film sets or interview appointments.  
Actually, they hadn't wanted to bring their children into the public eye that much, but all the effort had been in vain, it was just too hard to maintain a decent family life if their children were constantly staying at home so that they could go through the first years of their lives unrecognised. In the end, they still had to thank the press and the fans who respectfully held back photos of their faces. Their children were represented in many pictures, but at least you could only see their backs or a pixelated face.  
But at some point, this would surely come to an end.  
Christopher in particular has been quite interested in film, television, theatre and acting for some time now. He had already found out that he would be able to go to a theatre club starting this year - every Thursday afternoon. And he had already found out that he would be able to go to the proper theatre club from the 3rd year on. At the beginning of the summer holidays he had announced he wanted to attend the proper theatre club too and that it took place every Monday and Wednesday.  
Benedict was still amazed, probably as much as Martin, that their 5-year-old son was planning his appointments for 2014 - 2 years in advance, apparently he was quite serious about it._

_Benedict looked after him, then walked downstairs joining Martin and Amelia, who were still sitting at the kitchen table in the dining room. Amelia was still drinking her tea, Martin looked through a newspaper – he raised his head.  
"Finished already?", he asked astonished.  
"He wanted to get dressed all by himself,… because he's a big boy," Ben grinned, imitating Christopher's cool voice.  
Martin grinned broadly.  
Amelia also turned her head to him, grinning, sitting at the table with her preschool uniform. A navy blue polo shirt, an Aldenham Prep School cardigan, dark grey trousers and a pair of black shoes.  
Shortly after her grin, she let her shoulders sag a little.  
"Too bad I can't play with Chris anymore."  
Ben smiled, sat down with them.  
"You still have a break together and next year you'll see more of each other again, you'll be back in the same building as Chris next year."  
"Thank Goodness," she said, sipping tea again._

_15 minutes later, Christopher also came back to them.  
He was all dressed.  
Shirt, jacket, suit trousers, black shoes, tie - his Aldenham School uniform fit like a glove, and the little boy had actually managed to tie the tie by himself.  
Martin and Benedict both looked a little surprised - even though Benedict had practised it with him again and again, he had always tied Chris’ ties when he had to wear one; which was usually the case when they had to show up somewhere in formal clothing. Christopher seemed to like suits very much, probably because they wore them all the time.  
He had buried his hand in a trouser pocket, standing cool and easy going in the door frame - although he was pretty nervous.  
Benedict suspected that he probably wanted to set a good example as a big brother to show Amelia for the next year how easy it was to go to school now and that there was nothing to worry about.  
"I'm ready," he announced with a cool smile._

_A short time later they set off for Aldenham._

_They had all got out of the car, Benedict and Martin had crouched down, kissed and hugged Amelia, who was now waiting for her big brother._

_Christopher put his arms around Benedict, hugged him tightly, gave him a big kiss on the cheek.  
"I love you, Papa," he cuddled with Ben.  
"I love you too, sweetheart. Enjoy your day and stop competing with me every time you wear a suit," he smiled and gave his son a compliment.  
Chris smiled at him sweetly.  
"Let's see who looks the coolest and best in a suit in a few years. Daddy, you or me," he grinned cheekily.  
Ben grinned at him.  
"The competition is now open," he smiled.  
Chris laughed in his childish voice, kissed him again and then stepped back._

_He came to Martin, who had overheard the conversation and was still grinning.  
"Amelia will definitely wear the most beautiful dress," he winked at him, then hugged him lovingly.  
"Of all the other people who are there, she will be the most beautiful," beamed Chris charmingly, hugging Martin, who now smiled a little more. "I love you, Daddy."  
"I love you too, little charmer."  
They exchanged a kiss with a smile - and then Chris stepped back._

_Martin and Benedict stood up and looked down at their children.  
They smiled at each other, waved to each other.  
Christopher took Amelia's hand and ran to the grounds of Aldenham School with her.  
And before their paths parted at a junction, he took her in his arms again, even gave her a kiss on the cheek._

_Benedict was sure the little gentleman had whispered to his sister that he loved her._


End file.
